…
As the Torque rode away, Fotia couldn’t help but shout. Mostly obscenities, many of which would not be that common for a child he pretends to be to say out-loud. 
“Fotia!” Azure called for his friend. “Do not dare to let go of him!” 
This made for an unfortunate predicament for everyone involved. Flora was still on an off button, unable to help with Varvara’s situation. With none of her friends present to lend a hand, this left the young warrior girl to think up a way to get out of her binds. 
<Perhaps this jester could be zapped with lightning, if we managed to get him to stand close to us. Unfortunately, I do not see how we could even dare to attempt to make him come closer. What dreadful misfortune has been set upon us.>
I’ll say, Varvara thought. Her neck stuck inside a pillory, her limbs barely wiggling on a flat board, and a giant hammer hanging above them, ready to swing into them at any time. Maybe, if they could ask the clown nicely, he would not go through with it?
<It is far too late to rely on naivete, I am afraid.> Zamarad sighed, cursing herself. Varvara felt bad over how much the spirit was blaming herself.
The clown came up to them, fiddling with something inside his breast pocket. He pulled a miniature hourglass, one sized of his pinkie, which he pinned to his chest. Brushing it lightly, he pushed the tip, flipping it to make the sand flow. 
“Are you…ready?” He looked towards Varvara with his very large, very malevolent smile. “In few seconds, just after the sand completely goes into the other side, the hammer above you will swing down and then your head will be hit with a SPLAT and a BAM, turning it into mush!” He giggled. “Oh, and tell you little ghost friend that leaving now will be pointless, since,” he tapped his nose, “there is was no chance she could’ve escaped, nor there is one now.” He rubbed his hands against each other, situating himself right in front of the girl. “So, my little green warrior, anything left to say? Anything at all? Don’t be shy! Cause we all are oh so DYING to hear what someone like you could say, right before we turn you into a meat pancake, hmm? Oh, but don’t be anxious about you, you got ALL the time in the world! Oi-Hohohohohohohohohoho!”
Zamarad wanted to lunge at him and headbutt his teeth off. But that seemed to be completely out of her hands, literally. Maybe she could say some last words for her friend, with a defiant edge to them. But then she checked on Varvara, perhaps she had to say something first. And she apparently did.
“Well, I guess I feel bad for not saying goodbye to mom and dad,” Varvara answered to the clown.
He clapped with his hands in celebration. “YES! And how does that feel little girl, hmm? Makes you feel the worst, doesn’t it?”
“M-hm, it is awful. Also, I won’t see my friends anymore, too.”
“Oh yes, oh YES!” The clown was giddily getting into this. “This must be the worst day of your life, no?”
“I guess I should’ve told mom earlier. About me being a secret warrior, I mean. Now they also lost a daughter. Man, this really sucks. I guess I can be like a friendly spirit. That can be fun! Wait, how did Zamarad do that? Can I be a spirit?”
The clown stared at her. 
“Actually, I heard a lot about ghosts from Tom. He talked with Kage about spirit thingie, and said maybe ghosts are real because of this. I mean, I always knew they were real, but he said, they were never scientific, and then we-“
“Weeeeell,” the clown said, “I guess you still haven’t figured it out yet. So! I’ll let you have a moment to gather your thoughts. Now, prepare to-“
“What happens when you die, actually? I mean souls are there, it looks like, so I’m just wondering-“
It’s not as if she was trying to interrupt him. To be clear, Varvara was a well-behaved girl, even if it doesn’t seem so at first. She listens when other people talk, then wait her turn to say something. It may be weird, and somewhat off-topic, but nothing too bad. But she was panicking. And when someone panics, they can do stuff like blurting out something unrelated. It also helped that, this time, she hoped that it would stall him. And maybe that she could somehow convince him to stop the execution, however long it would take. Which was completely ludicrous idea, to be sure.
“Shut your mouth!” The clown yelled. He got up closer to her, no grin present. “Or do I have to shut it for you?”
Secretly, this made Varvara panic even more. Zamarad wasn’t even sure what to think of her saying the following.
“I was just thinking,” Varvara explained rapidly, “since it never happened to me. But I guess it never happened to anyone, right? No one would know. How could we know? You also don’t know, right Mister Clown?” 
And then the clown transformed. Not in the physical sense mind you, but almost the same. The clown transformed into something much meaner. Scratch that, it was as if he turned away from his mocking performance, to just loathing the girl, despising her very existence, an afront to his nature. He scowled subtly, but his eyes were full of fury, his nose flared up, and his voice, which used to be annoyingly chipper, dropped to being infernal.
“Of course you don’t!” he screamed into her face. “No one does! No one knows what’s it like to suddenly go away one day! Only to become absolutely NOTHING! You want to know what happens, hmm!?” He blew fire through his nostril. 
Varvara wasn’t sure if she could answer, but as she opened mouth, he continued with, 
“NOTHING! Absolutely nothing! But then you wake up, dazed, coughing, cursing that they brought you back, because it HURTS so much, only to realize that no one cared that you disappeared! They will forget you like a useless stain that you are. SO they bring you back, just for some stupid, self-flagellating reason that they only know about, only to tell you that your only job is to BABYSIT, some stupid BRATS, while THEY, are busy SCREWING AROUND! That’s how it feels like! Does it make you feel better!?”
Varvara’s eyes were frozen wide.
She wanted to ask him something, but Zamarad talked her out of it. There was something else they needed to do.
“Well!?” He leaned close enough that his spit hit her eyes. She really wanted to wipe the gross stuff away as fast as she could. “Got something to say, oh little girl?”
She didn’t respond, but instead, let their plan commence. The electricity ran from the shoulder to her tip of the fingers. Her arm jumped out and grabbed the collar of the clown. Her grip was iron-clad, making sure he was in place.
“…What is this?” the clown asked, looking down.
“Exactly what we needed,” Zamarad answered. 
The rope holding the hammer then snapped. The clown finally noticed his hourglass finished flowing, but by that time the hammer had finished its full arc. It landed right into the back of the clown’s head, making a sound of soft balloon being hit. The heavy weight kept pressing into him, squeezing the head, until the flat surface of it touched Varvara’s own forehead. She winced, until the pushback finally kicked in, and the hammer moved away. 
“You really are very despicable, aren’t you?” said the clown, with his nose pressed into the board beside her. 
<Well done, Varvara!> Zamarad congratulated the girl, who was mostly thinking on how nice it would be to have a rubber head. Definitely would help against concussions, wouldn’t it?
Then, the hammer started shaking. Varvara looked up, and saw that his hands were grasping the hammer’s head, and with the force of his strength alone, dislodged it from the axle it was on. He then tossed it away, letting the hammer create a small wave of white sand upon landing.
“You…” the clown growled. Once again, his face transformed. It wasn’t mockery, or hate. It was pure malice. “I shall turn your insides out and make a yarn ball out of your-“
Then an arrow flew right past his ear. 
It was as if the moment itself was whisked away. The clown went back to his contemptuous look, rolling his eyes, then bopping his head to turn it behind. Behind him stood Flora, her bow drawn and ready.
“What…are you doing?” he asked, sighing the second part. “You should be wallowing. Why aren’t you wallowing!?”
“Got bored of playing your games,” Flora answered.
The clown groaned. Very loudly. While stomping his feet. Varvara felt a bit sorry for him.
“You do remember, that it is against the rules, to shoot until the end of the race, right?” He gave a grin in an as nasty way he possibly could. “Last I remember, you agreed to it,” he said, moving towards her. It seemed like he waited for them to ask stuff like “What do you mean, end of the race?” or “Wait, the Torque is still racing?” or something like that.
“I know,” she replied instead, and lowered her bow. Varvara noticed a buzzing coming from her hand, which came from the bugs around her wrists. “It was simply a warning shot.”
“Warning…shot?” The clown raised an eyebrow at her.
“Yes, because I have the answer to your question.” She took a deep breath, while the clown stood there, dumbfounded. Then, she said, “what my father gave up, what he sacrificed all those many years ago, were none other than the souls of my people, of every citizen of Kingdom Vita. That is the answer to your question.”
It took some seconds for the clown to respond. And the first thing he did was shake his head.
“No, no actually. That is not how the game works, dearie. You may have forgotten in your wallowing that the hourglass-“
“The hourglass hasn’t finished its flow,” Rose interrupted him. This got the clown off guard.
“…What? What does that mean? The hourglass…I have BROKEN that thing! Look at-” The clown’s eyes nearly popped out from the sight in front of him. The hourglass indeed had a small amount of sand stuck inside of the upper bubble. Somehow miraculously in fact, as it stuck with no outside force. The clown couldn’t utter even a word, the ridiculousness of the sight just slamming into him repeatedly.
Of course, he didn’t know that Azure was holding it in place. This was the plan he came up with, while Flora was finally coming back to her senses. Quite fortunate for all of them.
“It is not possible!” The clown roared.
“You shall now tell us exactly what we want to know!” Rose proclaimed, holding her head high.
The clown turned to her, and shouted, “NO!” 
He snapped his fingers, whose echo reached throughout the desert they were in. From afar, everyone could see the Torque riding in, with Fotia hanging on one of its arms.
After huffing a few times, the clown declared, “Get ready for your LAST GAME!”
…